


body of years.

by stokedstoker



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Comfort/Angst, Cuddling, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Panic Attacks, Season 2 spoilers, Sexual Trauma, Spoilers for Episode: e104 Sneak Preview (The Magnus Archives), Trauma, can you tell, i hate notsasha, jonmartim - Freeform, not a ton of jon though i gotta admit, someone please get tim therapy, sorry bout that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:47:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25442635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stokedstoker/pseuds/stokedstoker
Summary: its too fucking early for this.too early.he’d woken up queasy at 4am and, mistaking the anxiety for sickness, had slipped himself out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen to get a glass of water. panic canreallycatch up on you quickly, though, huh? because long story short, tim stoker’s now sitting on a chair at martin's kitchen table and he can barely fucking breathe.
Relationships: (Past) Sasha James/Tim Stoker, Danny Stoker & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Tim Stoker/Jonathan Sims, Tim Stoker/Martin Blackwood, Tim Stoker/Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 11
Kudos: 133





	body of years.

**Author's Note:**

> hoo boy hurt comfort jonmartim time-- im just gonna post this now before i keep figuring out ways i can edit it and i go ahead butchering it to bits HAHA--

tim's always hated crying, in front of people or not. it made him feel painfully weak. whether it was because someone made him upset or because he was just feeling particularily bad, he despised people knowing he was unhappy. crying was the worst form of having people know. so naturally even now, as his stomach lurches and _lurches_ with the ache of anxiety, he trembles with the effort of keeping his tears in. as head swims painfully with memories, all swarming and attacking him at the same time, he clenches and unclenches his fists in his hair, pulling and yanking angrily. its too fucking early for this. _too early._ he’d woken up queasy at 4am and, mistaking the anxiety for sickness, had slipped himself out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen to get a glass of water. panic can _really_ catch up on you quickly, though, huh? because long story short, tim stoker’s now sitting on a chair at martin's kitchen table and he can barely fucking breathe, squeezing his eyes shut to at least _try_ and calm himself down. he takes a long, deep, breath and tries to stop his train of thought.

it doesnt work though. of course it doesnt. in seconds he's thinking of danny. of-fucking-course. he gulps thickly, almost feeling more angry at himself for not being able to hold it back than he felt anxious. with heaving breaths, he finds himself standing at the top tier balcony of a cold theatre, beside row after row of a stone-carved audience. he watches as grimaldi drags its sad excuse of a body over to danny, sees the dark trail of makeup and blood that its torn up face makes as it scrapes itself in painful slowness along the stage. "fuck!" he curses under his breath, smacking the butt of his palm angrily into his temple as more and more of his memories come flooding back. _fuck._ the spotlight is still shining down on the clown's body. tim watches. he _watches_. he feels his heart rate thrum faster and faster and faster as the terrifying mound of ruffles and polka dots grips onto danny's ankle, slowly uncrumpling its ragdoll body as it hoists itself up to its feet in excruciating slowness. tim gulps thickly, chest heaving faster and faster with panicked breath after breath. he still doesnt move. why doesnt he move?? he practically fucking begs himself to act- to do _anything_. instead he only stands and trembles, his lips parting slightly in horror. a coward.

_"shall i?"_

he doesn't get to reply- to even shake his head- before his brother's skin is torn off in one fell swoop. tim would've gasped if he could breathe. the mass of what should have been muscles and bones but instead was only colours and shapes (though _couldn't_ be his brother) began to slowly dance. tim’s mouth gaped open and closed, horrified tears running silently down his cheeks as he watched it move gracefully along the stage.

it was his fault, you know. there were so many points where he could've changed what happened that night but didnt. now he has to live with what he could have- _should_ have stopped. he hates the way his body shakes, trying to force the memories out of his head. "fuck-!" he whisper-shouts, voice hoarse as he begins to find it harder to avoid crying. letting out a pained sound, he ducks his head down lower, crumpling into himself. his hands grip tightly to the edge of the kitchen table, fingers digging into the wood. he wants to stop thinking. fuck-- he cant stop _thinking_.

at this point its hardly a surprise when tim begins to think of sasha. he curses under his breath. its almost fucking funny- how do you mourn a woman who's face you can't even _recall_? a woman who's voice he wishes he could say was on the tip of his tongue, but isnt. sometimes the thought of holding her face in his hands will idly slip into his mind, of feeling the softness of her cheeks as he smiles down at her. as he looks down into her eyes and just.. _sees_ her. but in reality, he only sees the misnomer of a thing that called itself sasha james for so long. that he _believed_ was sasha james for so long. its face is like an intrusive thought. its fucked up that he still thinks that it's beautiful, still misses the wrong face. what's even worse is that when tim stoker mourns his love, when he mourns the real sasha james (if he can even still hold the concept of any such thing), he still sees its face. the wrong face. the face of the thing that ripped the love of his life apart and wore everything she was, that took her place and continued on in its torturous facade. the face that tore out his heart and spat on it, that manipulated and hurt him behind his ex lover’s face. 

the worst part is that he misses it. he misses that... _thing_. he hates it, yes, but he misses it. misses when he lived in blissful ignorance, happy and “in love”. when he’d ignored how sometimes sasha didn’t.. _feel_ like sasha in some.. odd way. he hates that he simultaneously wants to kiss her and to hold her, to hear her voice again, but also wants to yell and scream and tell her how much he despises her. god, he looks back on his memories of her with pure repulsion. knowing that _thing_ ever made him love her hurts more than he can properly express. he hates that they kissed. that she’s held him. hell they even— they even... tim holds himself tightly, breath heaving and heaving and _heaving_ , eyebrows furrowing. to know that its hands were ever on his skin is an unimaginable pain. the fact that he let it happen is even more painul. it makes his hand subconsciously drop down to his thigh and scratch deeply, angrily at it. a deep down, sensible part of him tells him that he didnt know. that he _couldnt_ have known, that it isnt his fault. but another part of him reminds him that he betrayed the real sasha. that he deserves to feel at fault. god- that he _is_ at fault. his heart aches and aches, raising his fist to smack and punch at his head, his temple, his forehead. he needs it to go away- he needs the memories and he needs the thoughts to just _go away._

its almost funny that in the end it wasn’t even the real sasha that broke up with him for tom (a man who, might he add, doesn’t even exist. just like his sasha)... yet it still hurts so much. 

he hates how much everything stings. all the people he let down, the people he just watched die (whether it be knowingly or unknowingly). fuck. _fuck_. tim hates that he thinks its his fault. that he _knows_ it is. he’s a coward. at this point he’s given up trying to stop his tears, though his hands clap over his mouth in an attempt to muffle his ugly sobs. he can’t be loud. he cant be loud, his—

“tim-...?”  
he hears a voice mumble tiredly, his head snapping around to face it. though blurred with tears, he manages to make out martin standing there, one hand rubbing his eye and the other hovering towards the light switch. fuck. fuck fuck fuck. _great_. tim presses the hands over his mouth harder, unable to stop his sobs as he turns his head away from martin. fuck. _fuck!!!!_  
“tim..? why are you awake? come back to bed, it’s like four in the— _oh._ ”

tim lets out a small sob, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment in mortifying silence. his mouth cracks open to speak. he hates how hard his voice breaks. “im- its- go back to bed, martin. i'm fine, i just- i was only-"

“oh— oh _tim—_ gosh- hold on, let me-...“ theres a small second of silence before tim begins to heave with silent sobs again, hands moving from over his mouth to cover his eyes. his nails dig into his face as his skin crawls with embarrassment, gritting his teeth. he cant believe he’s crying in front of martin. fuck, this is mortifying. after a second he feels a hand gently press against him, rubbing comforting circles into his shaking back.

“shh.. its- you're okay. you're okay." martin mumbles quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. _oh._ tim cries even harder, drawing in a shaky breath. he feels martin's arms wrap around him from behind, grounding and comforting him in their warmth. he feels martin's face press gently into the crook of his neck, the brunette quickly scrabbling to hold martin's arms tightly against him. he just needs to know he's there. he needs to know someone's there-- the breath against his neck, the feeling of martin leaning over him and the soft mumbled reassurances are.. good.

"i'm sorry. i'm sorry i'm-- i'm so so sorry."  
tim sobs almost nonsensically, voice hitching and thick with tears. his fingers dig into martin's arms and he screws his eyes shut tightly, trying to pull the blonde even tighter against him.

"hey hey, you have nothing to be sorry for. dont be sorry. you’re okay.. you’re okay."  
the blonde responds quietly, catching what tim was doing and hugging him tighter.

"no-- no that-- no-"  
tim splutters with a hiccup, shaking his head vehemently and beginning to babble, spitting the words out angrily.  
"no i- they died and i'm- its- its all my _fault_. i could've stopped it, martin- i should've- i should've...”

“oh tim- _no._ tim you— you didn’t know. she-... you didnt know. its not your fault. none of us knew. besides, im sure that if you _did_ know you’d act on it, right? that _hardly_ makes you a terrible person.” martin says softly, head still pressed gently in the crook of tim’s neck. tim lets a particularily loud sob escape him, still shaking his head. its silent for a few moments despite tim’s sobs, martin quietly reassuring and comforting him.

“what can i do, love?”  
martin asks softly, pressing a small kiss to his neck. tim pulls in a shaky breath, trembling in martin’s arms.

“just- just hold- me.”  
he says, weakly, anger abandoned as a hiccuping sob interrupts his words. theres so much effort to be angry- so much effort that he doesnt have right now. martin nods quietly, holding tim against him slightly tighter.

“can do.”  
he says softly, shutting his eyes. they sit like that for a while, martin leaning over tim, tim holding his boyfriend’s arms tightly against him. he cries for a while, mild frustration and intense anxiety swirling together in his head. his breathing begins to still after a good while, the whirling thoughts that previously filled his head beginning to slow. his eyes are tired- so, so tired from crying. he still feels anxiety but its slowed, softening, and the dread and anger from his past has lessened to a dark, uneasy pit in his stomach. his breath still hitches and he still trembles in martin's arms, but his tears have gradually slowed to a stop. thats the most important part. he's not crying. they sit in silence for a while. he still feels embarrassed. disgusting. he hates that he just cried and babbled into martin's arms for a fucking half hour. the silence feels uneasy, makes him uncomfortable, but he still waits a little longer so he can properly figure out how he's going to downplay what just happened without raising suspicion or concern. he takes a deep, shuddering breath, relaxing his grip on martin's arms. he pauses for half a second before a clearing his throat.

"right. well. caught me in a bit of a low there, huh?"  
he says, breaking the silence, voice slightly quieter than usual. with a "hm?" martin pulls his face away from tim's neck. he opens his mouth to answer, but tim begins talking before he can, taking martin's arms from around him and hopping off of the chair.  
"but i'm all good, really. needed a hug or whatever but i'm.. im good now."

martin sighed and his face contorted in concern, taking a step towards tim. 

"... tim..-"  
he began softly, but tim simply reached forward and gently pulled martin’s face downwards by the back of his neck, pressing a kiss to his lips in an attempt to stop him talking. it only lasted a few seconds before martin pulled back, even more concerned than he was before. it _really_ didnt help that tim's lips had been trembling against martin's.

"shh. i'm fine. it was nothing, just a small speedbump."  
he said, giving martin an affectionate pat on the cheek, tired eyes meeting the blonde's as a he offers a weak smile. martin sighs deeply, placing a hand over the one tim had on his cheek.

"tim. come on, darling. you're _shaking._ "  
he says, but tim shakes his head and slips his hand out from under martin's.

"im fine i just. its fine. you know what? i ah- i think i'm gonna go off to work." he clears his throat thickly and feels tears begin to bubble up behind his eyes again, fighting desperately to keep them down. weak. he's so _weak_. fuck. at that, he clears his throat and rushes away from martin, moving towards their bedroom to get dressed. well- he would if he wasnt stopped in his tracks.

"work’s closed for about another hour or so.” a handsome, familiar voice comments plainly. aaand of course. tim sighs, eyes catching jon’s. he stood, arms crossed, in the hallway between martin’s bedroom and his kitchen, leaning against the wall. tim’s not suprised that he doesnt look sleepy at all- the man might as well be nocturnal considering his sleeping patterns.

“then i’ll just-“ tim starts, pausing for a few seconds, “gosh, i dont know, i’ll just drive around for an hour or something first.” jon raises an eyebrow, to which tim huffs impatiently . “just- move, jon, cmon.”

“tim, please.” martin says quietly, coming up behind him and hugging him close. the tears that bubble up in his throat at the comforting gesture is pathetic, squeezing his eyes shut to take a slow, shaky breath. when jon moves forward and hugs him from the front, his composure leaves him. a small sob escapes his lips and he rests his head on jon's shoulder, letting his shirt soak his tears. its a little bit of an awkward embrace, but its too comforting and warm for him to complain. for a while its silent except for tim's soft crying, and he cant really say whether he thinks that's good or bad.

"cmon love,"  
jon breaks the silence by saying, pulling away but letting his hands slide down tim's arms and into his hands. sniffling quietly, tim nods and follows jon as he leads him down the hallway into their bedroom. the warmth- both literal and figurative- he found in them provoked tim almost to sobs, but he kept his tears quietly to himself as they climbed into bed together, both of them holding him tightly in their arms.

"its okay- we love you. we've got you."  
martin mutters softly, kissing his forehead. jon, less verbally affectionate, simply squeezes tim's waist softly as he hugs him from behind, face nuzzling into his neck with a sigh. tim sniffles, pressing a short kiss first to martin's lips and then, turning his head as best he could, to jons. the blonde smiles and his face flushes, cuddling closer into him. jon simply hums, shutting his eyes. 

in the warmth of each other's arms, it doesn't take them long to fall asleep. (even jon.)

**Author's Note:**

> hi hi hi thanks for reading !! i know the fluff isnt. the Best but i tried KFDGJH-- uhhhhhh. this iiiiis my first fic on ao3 !!! i hope you enjoyed !!! :))!


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